


Italian Hospitality

by Jaded_Girl_83



Category: Early Edition (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, UST, big families, low-key kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 18:45:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21166289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaded_Girl_83/pseuds/Jaded_Girl_83
Summary: An unexpected encounter during a save results in more than Gary bargained for.





	1. Sack and Saved

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place between “Fatal Edition” and “Occasionally Amber”. If you remember, “Fatal Edition” ends with Gary and Brigatti sharing a LOOK before the taxi drives away and “Occasionally Amber” starts with their plans to “have dinner” with each other. (Which Gary emphatically tells Marissa is “not a date”. Right.) I for one, while pleased at the progress of their relationship, nevertheless felt as if we had missed a step. Here’s me filling in the blanks.

Gary bobbed down the stairs from his loft and into his office. Marissa was already there, one hand wrapped around a coffee cup. “‘Morning, Marissa.”

A thin black eyebrow arched as his sightless partner petted the orange tabby sitting in her lap. “Slow news day?” she inquired dryly.

Gary’s chipper mood soured somewhat at her tone. “How did you know?”

“Whenever you come down from your room cheerful or even remotely pleasant, it’s a slow news day,” she observed, her tone far too innocent.

His mood soured further, now laced with guilty defensiveness, and he fidgeted as he searched for a response. “Yeah, well… _you_ just try waking up at 6:30 every day no matter how late you were up last night getting kittens out of trees or saving homeless men from choking or wondering if you’ll be able to stop World War III without getting tossed into jail or an asylum-”

“Yeah, yeah, Gary. I’ve heard the rest,” Marissa sighed as she rose and started towards the kitchen.

Gary followed her, still defensive. “I can _too_ be pleasant. And not just on slow news days.” He carefully avoided Marissa’s sardonic expression and continued. “Anyway, today’s gonna be good for me. I have one quick save this morning on the West Side. After that I’ll grab a bite to eat, maybe see a movie, or maybe I’ll just come back here and take a nap.” He paused at the sheer delight of the thought. How long had it been since he’d taken a nap in the middle of the day? Another delightful thought crossed his mind. “And this time, Patrick’s not here to mess things up!”

“Such wonderful memories you have of your old employees, Gary,” Marissa quipped with a humorless smile and another sip of coffee. “What’s this quick save?”

“Just a hit-and-run outside of a grocery store. A driver in too big a hurry’ll accidentally kill some little old lady.”

“Does it say who the victim is?”

“Uhh…” Gary gave the paper a quick scan. “‘Name withheld.’ But it happens at 10:18 this morning, so I have plenty of time. I’ll even be able to have some breakfast. A _real_ breakfast, mind you; I’m not just talking about half a glass of orange juice and cold pizza. No, I’m gonna have eggs, and bacon, and-”

Marissa frowned and sat up straight. “10:18?”

“Yeah,” said Gary, checking his watch to be sure. “It’s only 8:50 right now. I have plenty of time.”

Just then, the clock in the bar struck the hour. Ten chimes. Gary and Marissa stood still, both counting.

“Um, Gary…” she ventured.

“No,” Gary breathed. “It’s…it’s wrong or something. I just replaced the battery on my watch, it can’t be…” He snagged the sleeve of Bryce, one of the busboys. “Hey, what time do you have?”

Bryce shifted his grip on a tray and brought his watch up. “I have ten-oh-two, Mr. Hobson.”

Swearing under his breath, Gary grabbed his coat from the rack and ran for the door. He’d almost reached it when Marissa called after him. “The van needs gas!”

Swearing some more, Gary ran back to the bar and grabbed some cash from the small box behind the counter. Why him? Why did it always have to happen to him? Glaring briefly at the Cat, he once more ran out the door. “Hey, taxi! Taxi!!!”

* * *

Gary leaned forward in his seat, straining to see out the window. “Can’t you go any faster?” he asked for the twelfth time.

The cab driver sighed irritably, for the eleventh time. “Look, buddy, it’s not my fault there was a wreck on 90! Jeez…”

“There it is!” Gary pointed to the Jewel-Osco that had just come into sight. “Turn here! Right at the entrance!”

“No kiddin’?” came the cabby’s acidic reply. “To think I spent all that time in driving school and still have to be reminded about basic entry into a supermarket parking lot! You’d think I’d never been to one before or somethin’!”

“Never mind, just stop!” Gary lunged out the cab and shoved a wad of money at the driver. Ignoring the man’s muttered comments he ran desperately towards the front entrance.

An older lady with olive skin, salt-and-pepper hair, and arms full of grocery sacks was walking out of the automatic doors, laughing and talking to a younger woman following about five steps behind her.

A red pickup pulled out of a parking aisle and sped towards the street exit, the teenager behind the wheel fiddling with the radio.

Gary ran.

The teen didn’t look up.

Gary yelled.

The truck couldn’t possibly stop in time.

The younger woman screamed at the older one.

The truck driver panicked.

Gary lunged and tackled the old woman to the ground in front of the automatic doors and safely behind the fire line. He even made sure to contort his body to land between the old lady and the pavement, though the move certainly hadn’t done his back or his leather jacket any favors.

The truck sped away, but the woman was safe. Bruised and bumped, her groceries scattered and ruined, but safe.“_Dio mio! Mi ha quasi ucciso! Mi ha quasi ucciso!_” The poor woman sat back and stared at the speeding pickup, jabbering to herself in whatever language she was speaking as she held her hands over her heart.

Gary sat up and tried to steady her. “It’ll be all right. Just slow breaths, okay?” He craned his neck to check on the younger woman behind them, and found himself looking up at Detective Antonia Brigatti.

Gary’s brain crashed into a wall. Brigatti. Trembling with shock, her hair cut short, and in casual clothes, but still Brigatti. “Hobson?” she whispered hoarsely.

Gary opened his mouth but no sounds came out.

“You saved me!” the older woman gasped in a very heavy accent. “Thank you so very, very much! _Dio mio, dio mio_!” She covered her face with her quivering hands.

Brigatti finally snapped out of it and slumped to her knees next to them, letting her own armful of groceries drop unnoticed to the ground. “Ma, are you all right? Anything hurt? Oh my god, are you all right?”

“_Sì, amore mio, sì_.” She hugged Brigatti fiercely.

Brigatti, still shaking, glared over her mother’s shoulder. “Hobson, what…what are you doing here?”

“I, uh.. well, I needed groceries and-”

“You don’t live anywhere around here!” she all but shrieked.

Brigatti’s mom pulled away from her daughter. “You know this man?”

Brigatti looked at Gary and back. “Uh, yeah. Kind of.”

“I thank you very much, _signore_! We both thank you very much!” She grabbed both of his hands and squeezed them.

Brigatti snatched one of his hands from her mother’s grip. “You’re hurt!” she gasped, looking at the ugly number the asphalt had done to his forearm. Gary blinked, his mind registering déjà vu from the Hilton roof incident. And if the look on Brigatti’s face was any indication, that’s where her thoughts had landed too.

“Well then, it is settled. You come with us! We fix you up!” With surprising vigor, Brigatti’s mom stood up and halfway hauled Gary to his own feet.

Floundering for balance, Gary sputtered. “Whu…wait, uh, it’s no big deal really, I can take care of-”

Brigatti hadn’t let go of his other arm. “It’ll only take a minute.” Her eyes met his for an instant before she dropped his hand and avoided looking at him altogether. “At least let’s make sure it doesn’t get infected,” she continued in her usual coldly professional tone.

Gary glanced at the wound, but his course of action was decided as Brigatti’s mom firmly tugged him back out to the parking lot towards an sleek sedan that he dimly recognized as Brigatti’s. “Come or you get germs!” The older woman scowled at Gary. “Or maybe you want your arm to get filled with puss and fall off? Huh? No? Good! You come with us. We fix it. Come!” Gary looked over his shoulder to see Brigatti salvaging all the groceries she could, pausing only once to glare balefully at where the pickup had gone. He sighed. They obviously wanted to demonstrate their gratitude, and his arm probably did need some attention. All in all, the whole thing could have worked out a lot worse.

But it sure didn’t help his mood when Brigatti pushed his head down to clear the roof of the car as he sat.


	2. Italian Lessons

“Ouch!”

“You are doing it wrong!” Brigatti’s mom snapped, grabbing Gary’s arm away from her daughter.

“Ma!” hollered the detective, yanking it back and nearly pulling Gary onto the island in the middle of the kitchen. “I said I could handle it! Now will you go and wash that scratch on your wrist already?”

Snorting and jabbering in what Gary assumed was Italian, the older woman stalked out of the kitchen, only pausing mid-rant to point at Brigatti, who responded in kind and jabbed an even sharper finger towards the bathroom. “Honestly,” she muttered under her breath as she continued cleaning Gary’s forearm. “She could be choking to death and still tell you she’s perfectly fine. She’s as stubborn as a mule.”

Gary couldn’t let that one slide. “Strong family resemblance.”

Two brown lasers threatened to burn a hole straight through his head. Gary was fully prepared to wait out the glare, until Brigatti grabbed the bottle of iodine and poured it over his scrape.

The words that erupted from Gary’s mouth were not generally reserved for polite company. Or even impolite company, really. Launching away from the island he proceeded to flap his arm around and let forth a barrage that would have made his mother faint. When the burning sensation subsided to merely “agonizing” he whirled on Brigatti.

She stood there, eyes wide. “Wow, Hobson. I didn’t even think you knew all those words.” Still half-watching him, she screwed the cap back onto the bottle and placed it in a cabinet.

One of Gary’s hands pointed a finger at his tormentor while the other made motions for her throat. Both were interrupted by the sound of a door opening. “_Ciao_!” a voice bellowed.

A cry sounded from the bathroom and Brigatti’s mom ran out, laughing and clapping her still-wet hands. She ran to meet the group of three adults and four kids gathering in the living area. Kisses and hugs were passed around as the noise level in the house skyrocketed... then ceased as they all saw Gary standing next to Brigatti in the kitchen.

“Hey, who’s this?” the younger of the two men said, grinning ear-to-ear and looking slyly at Brigatti.

“Oh! Oh, wait ‘til you hear what happened!” Brigatti’s mom ran past the group into the kitchen. She grabbed Gary’s arm- narrowly missing his still-stinging wound- and pulled him into the living room. “This is…” She paused and looked up at him sweetly. “What was your name again?”

“Uh, Hobson. Gary Hobson.”

“Ah yes.” Turning to face the others, she continued. “This is Gary Hobson. He is a friend of Antonia. He save me from a truck about to run me over!”

Cries of alarm were heard as the whole group crowded about the lady. She waved them all back. “I am just fine, _grazie_. But we take him with us to fix his arm!” She held up Gary’s scraped limb for general perusal.

Brigatti’s hand reached out and pulled him back into the kitchen. “An arm, you will all note, that hasn’t been fully attended to,” came her dry voice. “So if you don’t mind…”

“_Zia_ Toni!” came a chorus of youthful shrieks. The four kids poured into the kitchen and nearly tacked their… aunt?

Brigatti laughed and kissed them all, never taking her other hand off his wrist. “I’ll hug you all in a sec, but let me finish first!” Tugging Gary again- who was starting to get sick and tired of being jerked back and forth around the kitchen- she led him back to the island and applied a quick bandage.

As soon as Brigatti released his hand another captured it. The younger man shook it fiercely and gripped his upper arm. “Listen, we just can’t thank you enough. If you need anything- _anything_\- just mention it!”

“Absolutely,” said the older man, coming up to shake Gary’s hand as soon as the other released it. “We can’t even begin to tell you how grateful we are!”

Gary managed a smile despite his embarrassment. “Uh, well, no problem, Mister… uh…”

“Oh, I forget to introduce everybody!” Brigatti’s mom took center stage again. “Mr. Gary, this is my youngest son Pietro, my oldest son Marco, and these are his children.” A boy stepped up, followed by two girls, the younger half-hiding behind her sister. All were dark haired and olive skinned. “The twins are Matteo and Bianca, with Annamaria hiding there- she’s a bit shy- and… where is Kevin?”

Gary blinked. “Kevin?” he echoed. Amidst all these Italians?

A small boy ran up and wrapped himself around Gary’s knees, grinning up at him with a face full of freckles under a mop of carrot orange hair. Laughter rang off to his side, and a pretty lady with auburn hair and freckles pried the boy off of Gary’s legs. “He takes after my side of the family.” She held on to her son with one hand and shook Gary’s hand with the other. “I’m Moira, Marco’s better half.”

Marco laughed loudly and the kids ran back over to Brigatti again, clamoring for her attention. Gary smiled awkwardly as he rolled his sleeve back down. “Well, I can see that you guys have a family reunion or something planned, so if you don’t mind I’ll just head out now.”

No fewer than three voices cried out in outraged protest. The younger brother- Pietro?- planted himself firmly between Gary and the door. “No way! You don’t think we’re just gonna let you save our mom and run, do you?”

“Absolutely not,” Marco agreed. “You must stay for dinner! There’s always too much food anyway.”

“Uh, no, really…” Gary backed away from the crowd as best he could. “I’d just be an imposition. And saving your mom was nothing, really!”

“Well, it’s not nothing to us!” Marco replied sharply.

“No! No no, that’s not what I meant! I mean that I’m very happy to help and all…” He tried again for the door. “I just don’t want to stay and intru-”

Mrs. Brigatti had his arm again. “But you must stay!”

Brigatti was still standing in the kitchen, her expression unreadable and her posture a bit too stiff. The kids were still gathered around her, listening with wide eyes. “Ma, if he doesn’t want to stay…”

_She doesn’t want me here,_ Gary thought. Forcing a grin, he gently pried his arm out of Mrs. Brigatti’s grasp. “I think it’s best if I went.”

“Oh, that’s ridiculous,” Marco said dismissively.

“Guys-” Brigatti tried again.

“Antonia, don’t you think he should stay? Tell him to stay!”

“Ma, will you just let him-”

“What, Toni?” Pietro glowered. “You think we should just turn him out in the cold after everything he’s done for us?”

Brigatti blanched. She seemed unable to speak, and when she finally found her voice it was strained and thick. “No, that’s- of course not. I’m just saying that if he wants to go we shouldn’t keep him.” Her tense gaze turned to Gary, but didn’t focus on him. “He probably has a good reason for not wanting to stay.”

And suddenly it hit Gary. Two months ago. The Scanlon Incident. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him here; she must think that _he_ wanted to get away from _her_. “Well, I, uh, not exactly…” He hesitated and took a deep breath. “That is, I don’t _mind_ staying.”

She focused on him, incredulous. “You don’t?”

He tried a lopsided smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a good, home-cooked meal. If you’re sure that I won’t be intruding…”

The anxiousness in her face slowly relaxed. “No, not at all.”

“What, are you kidding?” Pietro roared in delight. “Being with us is like eating at that restaurant; you know, ‘When you’re here, you’re family!'” Grinning broadly, he steered Gary to the sofa.

Moira stepped over to the coffee pot. “Do you take cream or sugar, Gary?”

“Uh, black.”

“Milk?”

“Um, no… black,” Gary tried again.

“So Gary, where do you work?” Pietro said, plopping himself down on an easy chair directly opposite the sofa.

“Well, actually, I own a little tavern in the city. Got TVs and a small menu. Bought it from old McGinty when he retired.”

The older brother sat up and leaned forward. “McGinty’s? I went there once for a business meeting! Nice place. Great atmosphere.”

“Thanks.”

“What?” yelped Pietro. “You telling me there’s a sports bar in this town that I’ve missed?”

Marco laughed. “Careful Pete. You’re sounding Irish.”

“Hey hey hey, watch your mouth, _fratello_,” the other shot back.

Moira slapped her coffee mug on the end table and planted her hands on her hips, leveling a dangerous glare at the Brigatti brothers. “And what is wrong with the Irish?”

The pair stared at her, nervous grins plastered on their faces as she glowered down at them. Gary felt sweat begin to form at the back of his neck and glanced back over to the kitchen to see if Brigatti was going to break up the fight. But she and her mother were pouring the rest of the coffee with complete unconcern.

“Well?” Moira said again, sounding even more deadly. Gary was about to step in when he saw the faint grin hovering around her mouth.

Marco dramatically dropped from the sofa to his knees. “Forgive me, _vita mia_! It was a slip of the tongue!”

Moira gave an exaggerated sigh. “For this I dumped Patrick Callaghan?”

Marco was on his feet in an instant, sweeping his wife into his arms and waltzing her around the room. “No, _this _is why you dumped Patrick Callaghan,” he murmured as he nuzzled her neck.

A cry of despair sounded from the kitchen as Matteo, the boy twin, ran up to Pietro. Both of them started making gagging sounds and convulsing on the easy chair. Brigatti snorted as she placed a mug into Gary’s hands, nearly knocking it into his lap when the other twin, Bianca, rushed past her aunt. She ran up to her parents, demanding a turn as her father’s dance partner.“Later, _cara mia_, it’s Mom’s turn first.” Marco turned to Gary with a smile. “We were high school sweethearts.”

Moira heaved another long-suffering sigh as Pietro roared, “Bull!”

“No matter how many times you say that it doesn’t make it true,” Brigatti commented at the same time.

“What?” Marco demanded, eyes wide. “We dated in high school!”

Pietro snorted. “You fouled her boyfriend at the semi-finals and she chewed you out in front of both schools!”

“Don’t expect him to recall that night accurately,” Brigatti said dismissively, settling herself on the arm of the sofa. “She threw a basketball at his head, remember?”

“She what?” Gary blurted.

“He was a total goner,” Brigatti said by way of an explanation. “Marco dogged her steps for the next three months until she let him take her to prom.”

“See? We dated in high school!” Marco gave an injured sniff. “We fell hopelessly in love and got married! Therefore, high school sweethearts. Don’t you agree, Gary?”

Panic sent his mouthful of coffee straight down his windpipe, and Gary was spared the necessity of answering as he tried not to drown. He was vaguely aware of a tiny hand pounding on his back; slightly more aware of a grown-up hand taking away his mug and raising his arms above his head. His coughs became more productive, and in a moment he was breathing easier.

His watery eyes focused on Brigatti’s… torso. “There you go.” Gary looked up just in time to see her glance over his shoulder as she released his arms. “Kev, he’s okay now. Please stop hitting him.”

“I’m not hitting, I’m helping.” A wriggly, wiry body squirmed down the sofa back to land next to Gary, the freckled face squinting up at him. Whatever Kevin saw seemed to satisfy him, so he shifted his focus to Brigatti. “_Zia_ Toni, come play!” he whined.

The request was echoed by the entire prepubescent demographic, and Brigatti looked at her watch. “Tell ya what- give me ten more minutes of boring grown-up talk, then I’ll meet you guys upstairs, okay?”

The kids pounded up the stairs not unlike a herd of water buffalo, and the adults focused their attention back on Gary. Desperate to avoid being put on the spot again, he turned to Marco, relieved to see that he and Moira had stopped their waltz and settled on the loveseat. “So what do you do? Your job, I mean.”

“Computer engineer,” he responded. “Moved from hardware to software two years ago.”

“I’m a stay-at-home mom,” Moira smiled. “When I’m not helping him debug.”

“When are you at home?” Pietro scoffed. “You’re always out coaching or chaperoning or going to some PTA nonsense.”

“Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” Moira intoned loftily.

“Well, there goes any hope for me.” Pietro shot Gary a mischievous look. “Afraid I’m the family good-for-nothing,” he grinned, no shame in the admission. “Toni got the drive and Marco got the smarts.”

“Pietro!” Mrs. Brigatti rebuked.

“Did you just imply that I don’t have smarts?” Brigatti growled.

He ignored her. “I hated school so much. Couldn’t wait to get out. I like to be hands-on, you know? It was hard enough keeping me at a school desk for twelve years. Put me in a cube farm and I’d go crazy!”

“I know what you mean,” Gary said, scratching at the nape of his neck. “I was a stockbroker for a while- most miserable years of my life.”

Pietro gave a dramatic shudder. “_Dio ce ne scampi e liberi_. I’m turning wrenches right now, but I’ve done plumbing, valet parking, wallpaper installation… hell, I was a janitor for six months. I’d love to be a sports writer, though. But it’s a real hard field to break into, especially if you need a steady paycheck. Plenty of people out there who want to be paid to go to games and talk to athletes, you know? But I keep trying.”

“Well, I’ll keep an eye on the papers,” Gary said with only the barest trace of irony. “Can’t wait to see the byline ‘Pietro Brigatti.’”

“No no no no no,” Pietro clucked his tongue. “_Pietro_.”

Gary tried unsuccessfully to process that last statement. “Huh?”

“Pietro,” he said again. “It’s Pietro.”

“Pietro,” Gary repeated, wondering what the problem was.

Marco shuddered slightly and Brigatti snorted. “Hobson, _listen_. Pietro.”

What on earth was he doing wrong? He had to admit that when Brigatti said the name she made it sound like music, but other than that… “Pietro,” he tried again, attempting to mimic her intonation.

“_Pietro_.”

“Pietro…”

“Pietro!”

“Pietro!”

“Come on Hobson, it’s not that hard!” she barked, giving him her ‘how can you be this stupid’ look. “_Pietro_!”

“PIETRO!” Gary hollered back, very angry now. His tongue tripped a bit on the last syllable, messing up the word and thus ruining his fearsome attempt to intimidate her back.

“There you go!” Marco laughed. “We’ll make an Italian out of you yet!”

Gary blinked. He had no idea what he had just done and no clue how to do it again. “What?”

Brigatti gave him a patronizing pat on the shoulder. “You _finally_ said his name correctly.” She headed back towards the kitchen and the coffee pot. “It’s okay to call him Pete, though. Everyone else does.”

Gary held very still before leaning forward and demanding of her in an indignant growl, “Then why did you keep drilling me like that?”

She gazed at him impassively over her mug. “You have to _earn_ the right to call him by his nickname, Hobson.”

He stared for another handful of seconds, strangling the urge to throw something at her. Thankfully, Pete took up the conversation again. “So Gary, you married, or what?”

“Ahh… no. I’m divorced.”

Everyone but Brigatti moaned in sympathy, and Gary found himself taken aback by their reaction. Moira, absently stroking Marco’s hand, asked what had happened.

Gary sat for a few seconds, expecting to fight against a sense of indignation at their prying into his personal life. But to his surprise, no indignation came. Surrounded by sympathetic listeners, he actually found himself sinking back into the couch with a sigh. “I don’t know, exactly. I guess there had been a few warning signs. She had been pushing me about my job… you know, wanted me climb ladders, aim for management- that sort of thing.”

He looked at the others, opening up in spite of himself. “Marcia’s a lawyer, you see, and ‘bout as upwardly mobile as they come. But I was… I was happy where I was. Well,” he amended, “not exactly happy. I hated stockbroking. But I liked my life. I don’t mind things being small and quiet, but I guess she did. I came home one day and the locks had been changed.” He breathed a brief, humorless chuckle. “I thought something was wrong with my key until she tossed my suitcase out the window.”

The family sat silent, sporting identical looks of shock. “Had you been married long?” Marco managed.

“A few years. She was going through law school for most of it.” A muscle in Gary’s cheek twitched. It still kinda hurt. “She turned me out on our anniversary.”

A universal cry of outrage reverberated through the living room. Brigatti was staring at him, her face dark with indignation. He supposed that little detail wasn’t in his police file. “She threw you out on your _anniversary_?”

Gary nodded, and she made a sound like the Cat coughing. Pete was shaking his head. “Just like that, huh?”

“Yeah. I guess…” Gary hesitated, having never actually spoken this thought aloud before. “I guess I just wasn’t moving fast enough for her.”

Brigatti’s mom moved over next to him and patted his arm. “You poor thing. What a shame,” she clucked. “Antonia, she was engaged once too.”

“Ma!” squawked Brigatti. Gary looked over at her in surprise. The detective flushed and muttered, “It was a long time ago.”

“Yeah,” Pete smirked, settling back into the easy chair and resting his head on interlaced fingers. “Good ol’ Luca. Lost track of him, haven’t we?”

Marco snorted and Moira’s lips pursed disapprovingly. Gary felt his eyebrows raise. “What happened?”

Brigatti gave a bitter chuckle. “Well, I guess you could say he was a fast mover too. Apparently he wanted to skip past the ‘wedding’ and ‘newlywed’ parts and go straight to the ‘adultery’ phase of our relationship.”

“Hey, look at the bright side! You hadn’t married him yet,” Pete offered.

Brigatti’s mouth twisted in agreement, and a memory surfaced in Gary’s mind. Brigatti- livid, but beautiful in black- chewing him out at the Hilton ball after dancing with Amber. Leaning back against the bar, she’d informed him that if they were married and she ever caught him cheating… A grin twitched Gary’s mouth. “Did you shoot him?”

The entire family gaped at him. Brigatti blinked, then grinned sharply in understanding. “Nah, I didn’t.” Her expression turned wicked. “But I’ve always regretted it.”

She joined in as Gary chuckled. After a moment they both realized that the rest of the group was eyeing them with speculative curiosity. Pete cleared his throat with unconvincing casualness. “So… how long have you two known each other?”

Brigatti’s face had closed up again, but she gave a reasonably authentic-sounding laugh. “Since just before I left the Marshals. He lives to make life a living hell for the CPD.”

The subject of her insult gave a cry of protest, but Brigatti just laughed again, far more genuinely this time. “What do you mean?” Moira asked eagerly.

Gary felt the familiar pulse-quickening that always accompanied inquiries touching the paper, but Brigatti was in no mood to play detective on her day off. “Hobson here has an incredible talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time whenever there’s trouble.”

Marco leaned over to kiss his mom on the cheek. “Well, it looks like he also has a talent for being in the right place at the right time.”

Mrs. Brigatti blushed and tittered. Toni regarded Gary, a small, private smile barely touching the corners of her mouth. “Yeah, sometimes.”

That speculative silence descended again, but not for long. Gary jumped as a sudden war cry echoed from the second floor. He jumped again as Moira craned her neck towards the stairs and yelled “No screaming in the house!”

Pete snorted. “Do as I say, not as I do…”

She stuck out her tongue at her brother-in-law, but Brigatti grunted softly as she got to her feet. “My ten minutes are almost up anyway,” she grinned, placing her mug on the kitchen counter. “I’ll bring ‘em in line.”

Pete and Marco both snorted. “More like make it worse,” the latter taunted.

“Hey, I can’t help it if you’re a boring play partner,” she smirked as she disappeared upstairs. A few seconds later her booming voice, barely muffled by the drywall, bellowed a demand to know what was going on. Excited voices responded in kind, but just as Gary was about to ask for earplugs, the noise level dialed down to tolerable levels.

Pete glanced over at his brother. “You _are_ boring.”

“I am not!”

“Yes you are. When was the last time you covered your face with warpaint or played no-holds-barred dodge ball?”

Marco shrugged. “Okay, I admit it. I was meant to have girls. I throw a mean tea party.”

“Excuse me?” Pete snapped, looking genuinely affronted. “Did you see them do my hair up with pigtails and ribbons last month? I looked _amazing_.”

Moira regarded Pete with interest. “When exactly was the last time you felt the need to cover your face with warpaint?”

“Bears game,” Pete blandly countered. “_And_ Cubs game. In fact, I had the wondrous foresight to paint my entire torso the day Mendoza pitched a no-hitter!”

“Bathroom?” Gary blurted, anxious to avoid any conversation involving that particular day.

Everyone stared at him. Pete recovered first. “There’s a bathroom in the hall across the stairs, but you can’t use it.”

Gary froze halfway through lifting himself off the couch. “Why?”

“Because Pete and I haven’t fixed the toilet yet,” Marco gravely replied.

“Which we will be doing _right now_,” Pete added, glancing at Mrs. Brigatti.

“The other one is upstairs on the left,” Marco continued, also getting to his feet. “Pete, is your toolbox still in your trunk?”

Gary made his escape, snagging his jacket from the coat rack as he passed by the front door. He took the stairs three at a time and swung into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He let the silence wash over him as he took a deep breath. He splashed water on his face, and glanced at his reflection. “What am I doing here?” he muttered.

His reflection had nothing helpful to offer. Gary smothered another sigh and hung the hand towel back on the rack. He sat on the edge of the tub, scanning the Paper for something, _anything_, that needed his attention. It was almost smugly unhelpful, parading story after story of church bake sales, successful store openings, and a pet beauty contest. And absolutely nothing of interest playing at any of the theatres.

Figured.

He glanced at the locked door, torn between a typical desire to escape and a far more unusual desire to hang around. It probably had to do with the incredible smells that permeated the entire house courtesy of the kitchen. With a bracing breath, and a final glare at the Paper, Gary resolved to stay. For the time being, at least.

As he reached for the doorknob, yells and taunts sounded from the hallway. Gary hesitated, waiting for the noise to die down. But the sounds only got louder and, overcome with curiosity, he cracked the door open.

First he saw the twins dressed in plastic armor and crowns, moving backwards down the hall as they swung their plastic swords. The cause of their retreat became apparent as Brigatti came into view, wearing a pink tutu and somehow managing to hold off both weapons with a sword of her own. She wore a conical princess hat with ribbons trailing from tip, as did Annamaria, who was riding piggy-back on her aunt. The spectacle was completed as Kevin dashed down the hallway clad in a star-spangled wizard hat and cape, jabbering nonsense words as he flailed about with a short stick that Gary could only assume was supposed to be a wand.

The sight lasted ten seconds before everyone disappeared into what looked like a playroom of some sort. Gary silently closed the bathroom door behind him, hoping that he hadn’t been seen. Curiosity carried him past the stairs, and he glanced into an open bedroom. It held two twin beds with rumpled comforters and toys carelessly strewn about. The colors red and blue dominated in a way that seemed typical for a boy’s bedroom. Shaking his head, he nudged a stray toy back into the bedroom with his foot and started back for the stairs.

“Mattie! Beebs!” Pete’s voice echoed from below. “Your mom says to come help set the table!”

The twins erupted from the playroom and thundered past him towards the stairs, pushing him against one of the hallway doors. “Sorry!” they chorused in unison, though they didn’t slow their breakneck pace in the slightest. The door he’d knocked into was slightly ajar now, and he couldn’t help a little peek inside.

It was a bedroom, generously illuminated by the sunlight pouring in through the thin, white cotton curtains. A full bed was stationed under the window, taking up most of the square footage, but a dresser and a small desk had been squeezed against the adjacent wall. There were a series of small frames spread across the desk, and Gary stepped inside to take a closer look. One was clearly Mrs. Brigatti in her younger days, smiling brightly next to a handsome man with olive skin and an impressive mustache. That picture sat next to another of a very young Marco and Pete, shamelessly mugging the camera as they wrestled. The last frame encased a little league photo of a young girl with big brown eyes, two missing front teeth and a “say goodbye to your fastball, sucker” expression. Gary felt a smile creep across his face, and carefully placed the frame back on the desk.

He gazed slowly around the room until he was facing an oddly defensive Brigatti leaning against the door frame. “What? You expecting a lacy pink bedspread?”

He gave a sheepish grin. “No, I guess not.”

She relaxed, reluctantly. “My mom’s kinda sentimental. She wanted to keep my room exactly the same after I moved. Unfortunately for her, my dad had always wanted a trophy and sports room.” She shrugged. “It was easy enough to compromise.”

He glanced around at the various “C” emblazoned paraphernalia. “I take it you’re a Cubs fan?”

She gave a wry chuckle. “Makes sense, doesn’t it?” She ambled over to a baseball-themed teddy bear, a rueful smile curving her mouth as her fingers traced over it. “Cub’s fan, detective in the Chicago Police Department, dealing with you all the time…” She favored him with a bland look. “What can I say? I’ve just got this appetite for punishment.”

He threw her a look of his own, but it didn’t feel as combative as usual. In fact, he was fighting hard to keep from smiling and he wasn’t sure he was succeeding. Whatever his face looked like, it seemed to be making Brigatti’s go softer than usual too. Some combination of wry and gentle that he thought maybe, just maybe, he recognized from the Hilton…

She gripped his shoulder and marched him to the stairs. “Come on, Hobson. Stop hanging out in little girls’ rooms; it’s creepy.”

“That is- that’s not even- _I wasn’t_!”


	3. Dog With a Bone

Brigatti abandoned him at the bottom of the stairs, disappearing into the kitchen to help her mother and sister-in-law prepare what promised to be an impressive feast. Gary hesitated in the foyer, feeling awkward and wishing once more that he was home. But he resettled his jacket on the coat rack.

Turning away from the tempting escape route, he twitched as he saw a carrot-topped pair of brown eyes staring at him through the gaps of the banister about halfway down the stairs. Gary frowned. “What are you doing there?”

Kevin poked his face between the bars. “You’re really tall.”

Not an answer to his question, but all right. “Yeah, I guess.”

The boy’s head pushed between the bars as he made a show of looking Gary up and down. “Like… really, _really_ tall.”

Gary stepped over and sat on his haunches, bringing his face to Kevin’s eye level. “How’s that? That better?”

Kevin giggled and got his legs back under him, standing as tall as he could before his neck hit the bottom of the handrail. “Now I’m taller!”

“Well look at that,” Gary grinned. He drew himself up to full height, towering over the boy once more. “You are taller.”

Kevin’s mouth twisted, and he looked over to gauge the height at the top of stairs. “Just wait a minute! I’m gonna be all the way taller than you! Wait!”

He crouched down and tried to pull his head back through the bars- “tried” being the operative word. Grunts started to sound whinier and more panicked when his head remained wedged. Feeling a bit panicked himself, Gary rushed forward. “Hey, it’s okay, don’t-”

“I’m stuck!” Kevin wailed.

“Maybe if you try to lean your head back a little-”

“**_Momma_**!”

There was a patter of feet at the top of the stairs, and Gary looked up just in time to see Annamaria gaping at her brother. She squeaked as she saw Gary, and ducked back around the corner. Kevin continued to cry, and Gary forced down his own panic as he tried to soothe the boy. What in the world was he supposed to do now? The paper hadn’t mentioned anything about the fire department rescuing a kindergartner from a staircase…

Gary spun guiltily as he heard footsteps behind him, but it was only Bianca, huffing in older-sister indignation. “Mom said to see what you’re screaming ab- Kevin! Not _again_!” She planted her fists on narrow hips. “Mom told you to stop doing that!”

Kevin only started crying harder, but now his sobbing was interspersed with the occasional plea to not tell his mother. Gary hunched over and thrust his face into Kevin’s line of sight, trying to avoid the tears and snot dripping onto the floor. “Hey there, champ! Everything’ll be all right,” he said encouragingly as he ruffled the boy’s hair.

Kevin gave two wet sniffles but managed to look Gary in the eye. “P-promise?”

“Sure,” Gary said, managing to sound properly calm and confident. “I’ve seen much worse.” That at least was true. “Besides, this happened to me too.”

Bianca eyed him critically. “That was stupid. Don’t you know better?”

Gary did a double take as her meaning sank in. “I don’t mean _recently_,” he retorted indignantly. “We had stairs like this when I was little. Screamed for hours until my parents got me out. Then Dad rebuilt the banister so that the bars were too narrow to do it again.” Like he hadn’t learned his lesson after all that.

“How’d they get you out?”

Gary suppressed a shudder. It’d taken _weeks_ to get the Vaseline out of his hair. “Let’s not try that first. I think I might have a better idea,” he mused, studying the bars. “Kevin, it was easy sticking your head in, right?”

“Yeah,” he whimpered.

“Perfect. Bianca, go around to where the rest of him is; I want to try something.”

She eyed Gary speculatively as she crawled up the stairs. Something about that expression reminded him of Brigatti; god, she must have been a terror growing up. He bit back a smile as he turned his attention back to the problem at hand. “Okay guys, here’s what we’re going to do. Kevin, your head’s the biggest part of you, so we’re going to try pushing the rest of you straight through. Turn your head to face the door.”

With one last sniffle, Kevin turned his head. “Great! That’s perfect- keep it right there. Now Bianca, I need to to turn his body so that he’s lying on his side.”

That took a little more wrangling, as well as Gary’s direct intervention when he had trouble communicating that Kevin needed his arms lying flat against his sides. But eventually everything got sorted, and Bianca held her brother’s body steady as Gary reached his arms through the gap and got a grip on Kevin’s shoulders. After a count of three and a brief moment of worry as they squeezed his rib cage through, Kevin was free. Thankfully, the boy was built like a stick. Also thankfully, he seemed to be the type that recovered his spirits quickly. As soon as his arms were free he wiped his snotty face on his sleeve, whooped with delight, and scampered off.

Bianca rolled her eyes briefly, then grinned up at Gary. “That was pretty smart.”

Gary grinned back. “Thanks. Wish my parents had thought of it.”

She snorted, then turned her gaze up the stairs. “Anna, why don’t you come down?”

Annamaria poked her head back around the edge. She saw Gary looking at her, but before she could recoil, Gary ducked out of her line of sight. He counted to five, then slowly reemerged, only to duck back again when he saw the little girl looking at him.

He heard little giggles coming from the top of the stairs, and Bianca shot him an exasperated smirk that Gary could absolutely swear he’d seen on Brigatti’s face before. The older sister heaved a long-suffering sigh as she descended the stairs. “Fine, stay up there if you want to. You might as well start picking up the toys since Mattie and I had to set the table.”

“That’s not fair!” came a high-pitched whine.

Gary decided that he was not needed for the rest of the conversation and wandered over to the living room. Matteo, Marco, and Pete were lounging there, deep in a serious conversation if the looks on their faces were any indication. Gary hesitated, but Pete glanced up and waved him over to the empty recliner.

“Flowers,” Marco said decidedly. “I wouldn’t go red just yet, but a spray of vivid pink roses should be perfect.”

Matteo and Pete shared an incredulous look. “And what? Is he just supposed to waltz into school carrying a bouquet the size of his torso? Have you forgotten what it was like to be in middle school?”

“It’d be embarrassing,” Matteo muttered.

Marco frowned at his son. “Being around women is always embarrassing, Mattie, but if you _commit_ to it, it’s not bad. You like the girl, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but she’ll be embarrassed too!”

“He’s got a point,” Pete admitted. “Junior or senior year of high school, you could get away with it, no problem. But middle school…” He shook his head. “Mattie walking in with a bunch of flowers would get both of them nothing but teasing for the next six years.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Marco heaved a dramatic sigh. “How utterly depressing. How can there ever be a time or place in this world where roses are not a good thing?”

Pete suppressed a smirk, catching Gary’s eye. “What a sap!” he stage-whispered.

“Hey, I take after my mother. A hopeless romantic.”

“Like I said. A sap.”

“Pot,” Marco gestured to Pete. His arms shifted to point to himself. “Kettle.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Pete objected with his best outraged expression. “I am not a romantic!”

“Remind me, who exactly was it that jumped off the roof for Teresa Ortiz?”

“So?”

“And who asked Katie McGowan to the prom by hijacking the school P.A. system during lunch?”

“Your point?” Pete sniffed.

“The ‘grand romantic guesture’? Classic romantic move, _fratello_.”

Mattie gave his uncle a look, and Pete threw his hands up in surrender. “Okay, fine. I’m a sucker for the grand romantic gesture. But I learned it from dad, so I guess that’s okay.”

Gary’s curiosity piqued. “What about Briga- what about Toni? Who does she take after?”

The brothers roared with laughter. “_Nonno_ Francesco!” Pete chortled.

Marco moaned and wiped tears from his eyes. “Look, I love my sister. Really. But she does not have a single sentimental bone in her body.”

“Sentimental wouldn’t be a bone; it’d probably be something squishy, like an organ,” Pete philosophized. “But whatever it is, she traded it for a giant pair of brass balls.”

Mattie’s eyes widened with scandalized delight, and Marco gave his brother a glare that could have stripped paint. Pete cleared his throat. “I just mean that she can be sweet sometimes, but never squishy.”

_She can be sweet?_ Gary thought to himself as Pete continued wilting under Marco’s glare. Mattie ignored both of them and looked over at Gary with great seriousness. “Did you ever like somebody, Mister Gary?”

Gary ignored the suddenly sharpened interest from the Brigatti brothers. “I’ve liked a couple of people over the years,” he answered easily.

Mattie nodded, deep in thought. “Did you go on dates?”

“Yeah, I’ve been on dates.”

“Like, _a lot_ of dates?”

Gary started to squirm, and the ill-concealed amusement of the Brigatti boys did nothing to make him more comfortable. “Enough of ‘em, I guess.”

The boy scooted to the edge of his seat, his gaze eager. “How did _you_ do it? How did you get girls to go out with you?”

The recliner he was sitting on was much too hard; there was no way it would let Gary sink down into the floor. “Actually, I’ve never been very good with girls…”

His stiff statement brought stifled snorts from the adults in the room, but Mattie’s immediate disappointment was quickly replaced by confusion. “Then how did you get any dates?”

“Early growth spurts and a spot on the football team,” he replied, his voice flat.

Pete couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst out laughing. Marco’s reaction was slightly less effusive, but both men nodded and admitted that that would do the trick. Mattie growled in frustration. “But what if I don’t get taller soon?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t wait for that boat to come in, kiddo,” Pete chuckled.

He had a point; the Brigatti family seemed to favor medium height. But Mattie looked distressed, so Gary tried to give him a reassuring smile. “The best thing you can do is just be a good person. Roses are great, and dramatic acts will certainly get a girl’s attention. But it can mean just as much to her if you help her carry something heavy when she’s struggling, or letting her go before you in the lunch line, or trying to help her find a lost dog. Debbie Hicks asked me out once just because I helped her grandma walk home after an ice storm.”

Three pairs of dark brown eyes were staring at him. “Oh my god,” Pete said in wonder, “you’re a superhero romantic!”

Gary felt his back stiffen, embarrassment and pique warming his cheeks. “I’m not-”

“Oh, yes you are,” Pete grinned. “It’s no surprise; you have ‘boy scout’ written all over your face. I bet you’ve been rescuing kittens from trees since you were old enough to climb!”

Gary opened his mouth for a retort, but was saved by Marco giving Mattie a grave look. “He’s right, though, Matteo. It’s not enough to be charming or romantic. More than anything you want to be a good man. So always treat people with kindness, and always _always_ treat women with respect.”

Pete grinned broadly. “Except _Zia_ Toni.”

Mattie grinned too, his gaze immediately tracking to somewhere over Gary’s shoulder. A cold, sick feeling twisted Gary’s stomach, and he craned his neck around to see Brigatti comfortably settled on one of the bar stools at the edge of the kitchen. “You… how long…?”

She sipped at her coffee. “Oh, at least since you going on ‘lots of dates.’”

With herculean effort, Gary hung on to his dignity, and gave no response. Brigatti’s eyes gleamed, not in the least inclined to let him go while he still had even the smallest shred of pride left. “I can definitely vouch for him not being good with girls. The man is so awkward it’s painful.” She breezily endured his glare and moved around to the kitchen side of the counter bar. “Moira is helping Ma with her internet connection right now, but dinner’s almost ready. I was gonna start making a salad, but half the tomatoes were ruined. Think you two romantics can pick up a few more and get back here within fifteen minutes?”

“Only if Marco doesn’t drive,” Pete solemnly replied. Then he coughed loudly, and it sounded like the word “grandma.”

Marco glared. “If you’re making salad, we’d better pick up another three bottles of salad dressing too,” he shot back. He caught Gary’s eye. “Trying to take the dressing away from Pete is like trying to take a bone away from a dog!”

Mattie cackled and started barking at his uncle. Pete echoed the noise before snatching up his nephew and throwing him over one shoulder. “Dog with a bone! Dog with a bone!” he chanted and he bounced the two of them up and down. “Dog with a...”

He froze, and whirled around to face Gary. “That’s it! _That’s_ why your face looks so familiar! You were the one on the news a few months back, weren’t you? From the Frank Scanlon murder investigation!”

There was a loud clang in the kitchen, but Gary barely heard it. The whole world had suddenly become very still.

He heard a sharp intake of breath as Marco scrutinized his face. “_Dio mio_! You’re right! What a mess that was. Moira and I absolutely poured over that Sun-Times exclusive. It must have been terrible for you.”

“Yeah,” Gary ground out stiffly.

“Tomatoes.” Brigatti’s voice was harsh.

Marco recollected himself, turning towards the kitchen. “We didn’t mean anything by it, Toni. We know you and the CPD were doing your best-”

“I need the tomatoes within _ten_ minutes, now,” was Brigatti’s icy reply.

“Yeah, we’re heading out,” said an unusually subdued Pete. “Back in a minute.”

With another couple of brief glances, the two men left with Mattie in tow. Gary stood for a long time, trying to convince his spine and shoulders to relax. Behind him, sounds of running water and a knife slicing through vegetables echoed gently from the kitchen. He focused his entire attention on the sounds, letting their utter ordinariness soothe the tension. He’d actually managed to loosen up enough to breathe properly when he heard the noises stop.

“Hobson… Gary.”

Gary looked over at Brigatti in surprise, but her eyes were fixed on the cutting board. “I just- I wanted to say that… that I’m sorry. For not letting you in that night. My town house, I mean. I should have… _I should have_-” Her throat seemed to catch, and she just stared into nothingness, her jaw tight and her mouth thin.

Gary shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, well, you stuck up for me later, right? And it got sorted out, so I guess it’s all okay.”

He jerked back as she speared him with a blazing glare. “And if you’d frozen that night?” she demanded. “Would it be okay then? Hounded to death on the shores of Lake Michigan in winter _when I knew in my gut_ that it didn’t make sense?” Her expression softened, and Gary caught another flash of pain in her face. “I’m just- I’m sorry. Maybe I’m being selfish saying it, like I’m asking for forgiveness or something. Which I’m not! I mean, I wouldn’t if I was in your shoes. I can’t even forgive _myself_ yet, and I slept with a roof over my head! I-”

Her voice broke, and she took a steadying breath. “I’m not asking for anything,” she said, meeting his eyes again. “I just felt that I owed it to you to say it to your face.”

Gary stood silent and unmoving on the far side of the kitchen counter. After a moment, Brigatti jerked her head in a nod then turned around to finish chopping the salad vegetables. He stood there, listening to the knife scrape its way across the cutting board. Then quietly walking over, he touched her shoulder. Startled, Brigatti’s head snapped up. “It’s, uh, it’s all right.”

She blinked at him, still unsure. The corner of his mouth quirked up a bit more at her expression. “I forgive you. Toni.”

Big brown eyes widened. She had such enormous eyes, dark enough to get lost in. Gary’s view of them was suddenly obscured by an embarrassed drop of her head. “Thanks.” Grabbing the cutting board, she marched to the sink to dump the scraps into the garbage disposal. Gary followed her around the island to get a closer look at her face; her eyes and nose were red. Brigatti saw him staring and forced a laugh. “These damn onions,” she said with a sniff. “Almost as bad as your stupid cat!”

She carefully kept her face from his view until the rest of the family returned.


	4. Indigestion

There was so much food.

Gary had seen that much food on one table before, but it was usually during a major holiday. This was just some random Sunday. It was a little overwhelming.

He eventually stopped counting the dishes and just loaded a serving of whatever passed him onto his plate. This seemed to please his hostess, and his plate didn’t look too different from Pete or Marco’s, so Gary figured he was doing okay. He experienced a brief moment of awkwardness as everyone suddenly crossed themselves and sped through a brief prayer in complete unison. He had just shoveled a fork-full into his mouth and swallowed so fast that he almost choked, but everyone was done and digging into their own plates by the time he was finally able to speak. His faux pas was either not noticed or ignored by the matron of the family. Brigatti _had_ noticed, and she threw him a smirk as she silently mouthed what looked like the word “heathen.” He pointedly ignored her.

He'd cleared half of his plate when Moira addressed him, her voice very casual. “So Gary, when did you two meet? Toni said it was back when she was in the Marshals?”

Brigatti, her mouth full of lettuce, glanced up at him from across the table. Her wide eyes narrowed into slits, but Moira had timed her inquiry well. “Uh,” Gary hesitated, watching Brigatti chew furiously. “Yeah. Got caught up in a RICO case. Wrong place, wrong time, like we said. There was a towel boy who was going to be gunned down in a steam room and-” He broke off, biting back a bark of pain as a sharp-toed shoe smashed into his shin.

“Gunned down?” Mrs. B frowned, her hand coming over to cover her heart.

“It was nothing,” Brigatti jumped in, her reassuring smile somewhat strained. “There wasn’t any real danger.”

A vanished headline argued against that statement, but Gary didn’t dare contradict her. “Yeah, the gym was crawling with undercover agents,” he offered, trying to help. “Lots of protection around. Not like the yacht-” He drew in a sharp breath as Brigatti kicked him again.

“Yacht?” Marco echoed. “What yacht?”

“Ma, this sauce is really good,” Brigatti said, a bit too loud. “Did you change the recipe?”

Mrs. B’s head swung around, her face red with outrage. “Of course not! This is my great-grandmother’s recipe!”

“Sorry,” Brigatti meekly offered, looking less sorry than relieved.

“I would never change anything! You know better!”

“You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Your grandmother, rest her soul, would rise up from the grave, grab my stirring spoon, and rap your hands for such a thought!”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Brigatti snapped, no longer looking relieved. “I’m sorry!”

Mrs. B looked like she was going to continue the tirade, but a muffled snort of amusement distracted her. She looked around the table for the culprit, but every member of her family was sporting angelic expressions. She humphed, then turned her scowl back towards Brigatti.

“This is your great-grandmother’s recipe, Mrs. B.?” Gary all but gasped. “That’s incredible!”

She looked over at Gary, all sweetness and light again. “Oh, you are so kind! She made it in Sicily, and it was brought over by my mother when she came to this country. But,” she sighed, “the tomatoes are not so good here. It is not the same without my family’s tomatoes.”

“Well, you’d never know,” Gary insisted, taking another bite of pasta. “This is the best I’ve ever tasted.”

Mrs. B tittered and blushed again. Pete, sporting a wide grin, muttered something that sounded like “superhero romantic” as he raised his glass to his lips.

Gary’s hope that the conversation had safely passed into topics that would not threaten his legs was dashed a few minutes later. “Do you see Toni a lot at the police station, Gary?” Marco inquired.

“Nope,” Brigatti swiftly answered. “Hardly at all, in fact.”

“Really?” Pete challenged, resting his arms on the table. “Thought you said he makes life hell for the CPD.”

“Exactly,” Marco agreed. “That’s why I asked _Gary_.”

Her foot lashed out again. Gary tried not to wince. “I mean… I don’t… I’m just trying to help, is all. I’m a concerned citizen.” He watch Brigatti trying to burn a hole in her plate with her eyes, and reluctantly abandoned his attempt to justify himself. “But I guess the cops get busy too. I can understand how I might be… annoying. I guess.”

Her stiffness eased, just a bit. “And I’ve known a lot of great cops. Crumb. Armstrong…” He faltered, trying to come up with more names. “Well,” he lamely concluded, “I’ve at least known as many good cops as dirty cops.”

Brigatti’s head snapping up gave him just enough warning to move his leg. Her foot connected with his chair and she sucked in a sharp breath. Gary tried not to look satisfied.

Moira sat up straight. “That's right! There was that one who framed you- Savales, wasn't it?”

“And his brother-in-law, the medical examiner,” Gary confirmed. “Before that there was Saunders who partnered with a bank robber. And Corbell on the RICO case. And…”

“And that’s all the information you'll get, as a lot of those details are _sealed_,” Detective Antonia Brigatti informed the table, reserving a special glare for Gary.

Marco was frowning at her. “Geez, Toni. How many dirty cops are out there?”

“Dirty?” Mrs. B. fretted, her hand tightening around her fork. “Antonia, are you safe?”

“Perfectly,” Brigatti emphasized, her smile tight. “I’m here, aren’t I? You know I’d never put myself in too much danger.”

Gary’s jaw tightened, thinking about her trapped in the yacht with Saunders and the mob, dangling from the roof of the Hilton… and worst of all, drugged and stumbling out of the trunk of Savales’ car, her gun jumping and wavering as she exchanged fire. He couldn’t help it; he snorted.

Brigatti’s foot connected with his shin again. “Would you stop kickin’ me already?” he grated through clenched teeth.

Brigatti stiffened but glared steadily at him. “It’s none of your business, Hobson.” She bit out his last name, reminding him of his outsider status among the gathered.

He wasn’t the only one who caught it. “Antonia!” her mom gasped, smacking her hand on the tabletop. “You be nice! And stop bullying!”

Toni favored her with a disbelieving scoff. “The man is a full eight inches taller than me and, what, seventy pounds heavier? I hardly think I’m bullying him! Besides, despite that innocent small-town face of his-” she pointed at the offending feature “-he is the most stubborn person I’ve ever met in my life! Present company included!”

“Yeah,” Pete piped up. “But you have to take background into account to be fair. Gary, where are your parents from?”

The question caught Gary off guard. “Uh… Indiana?”

“No, no,” Pete waved a hand in dismissal. “I mean what country of origin…oh, never mind. Hobson… that’s gotta be English. And settled in Indiana… hell, they’re probably Quakers or something. At any rate, Toni, he may be stubborn but I doubt he has the argumentative expertise to hold his own against an Italian, second-generation Chicago cop. You can still bully him pretty effectively, I bet.”

“Thank you very much for the analysis, Pete,” Brigatti said acidly.

“Antonia!” her mother barked again.

“I don’t believe this,” Toni muttered. “My own family gangs up on me for not wanting some guy to divulge bits of my day-to-day life! This is great.”

“Geez, Toni! Will you calm down? Maybe it’d help if you took a deep breath and started acting like our sister instead of some psychotic, argumentative bi-”

“Pete!” Moira barked in sharp warning.

“…bigwig,” Pete finished lamely, shooting a guilty look at the kids. “What’s wrong with you today?” he asked in a softer tone.

Gary raised his eyebrows. Brigatti was behaving more-or-less like every other time he’d seen her. What exactly did her family expect?

Brigatti sat rigidly in her chair, her jaw muscles twitching. She gathered up her dishes and headed to the swinging door that led to the kitchen. “Sorry if I upset anyone,” came her gruff voice as she left the room.

The family watched her retreat. “She does seem to be a bit… edgier than normal,” Moira ventured.

Marco grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “She’ll be fine. She always is.”

Pete shrugged. “Maybe it’s that time of the month.”

_Maybe it’s me_, Gary thought glumly. The sound of running water and clanking dishes filtered over the kids asking Pete what “that time of the month” meant. Gary gathered his own plates. “I think maybe I ought to go. I’m pretty sure she’ll be okay if I leave.”

A general outcry arose but Gary was apologizing and striding through the kitchen door before anyone had put together an argument.

The sight of Brigatti hunched over the sink- dishes forgotten- greeted Gary as he entered the kitchen. A sharp glare flashed in his direction before it softened upon recognizing him. Gary shifted from one foot to the other. “I, uh… thought maybe I ought to be going now.”

“‘Cause I kicked you?” she asked, her tone an odd mixture of bitterness and resignation. “Look, I’m sorry about that. I just…” She sighed heavily, massaging the skin between her eyebrows. “I just don’t want my mom to know all the crazy stuff I go through. She’d… worry.”

Gary shifted his weight, but didn’t respond. Brigatti sighed again, and turned around to rest her back against the sink, her arms folded tight around her. “My dad was a cop. A good one, too. All I ever wanted was to be like him when I grew up…”

She shook away the tiny smile and continued. “Anyway, he started having headaches, and the doctor found an inoperable brain tumor. It really threw him, but he wanted to keep working as long as he could. He just couldn’t stand the thought of withering away, you know? But no more than a week or so later, he was gunned down during a robbery.” She gave a little humorless chuckle and drew a hand across her brow. “It sounds awful, but I was actually kind of glad. I knew that was how he’d rather go. But mom… it was really hard on her. I guess she figured she'd have more time with him before he died.”

Her mouth twisted. “She’s never been really happy about my career decision. But after _that_ happened…” She looked up at Gary, her expression both hard and pleading. “She always worries about me getting hurt. Maybe it’s wrong, but I just don’t want her to know the lurid details of everything I’ve been through.”

Gary walked over and placed his dirty dish into her outstretched hand. “I won’t tell. Promise.” He grimaced. “Sorry I started this whole mess.”

Brigatti hitched a shoulder as she rinsed away cheese and sauce. “Not your fault.” She glanced at him askance. “You still leaving?” she not-quite challenged.

“Not sure. Do you want me to?” Gary held his breath, feeling very daring. Small wonder; he was practically flirting! If she didn’t like it there was always that chance that she’d reach for her semi-automatic and-

Amazingly, the corners of her mouth twitched. She grabbed a covered dish. “Tell you what; if I promise to behave myself and not make you sorry you saved my mom in the first place, will you help me carry in the cannoli?”

The smile fully emerged. “Deal,” said Gary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the Brigatti surname is most often found in northern Italy, but Toni's mom's family was from Sicily so don't @ me.


	5. A Freudian Slip

The cannoli had been just as delicious as the rest of the meal, and as they all retired to the living room, Gary collapsed onto one side of the sofa and valiantly fought off a food coma. The rise and fall of conversation was halted as the clock on the mantle began to chime. “Time to catch _Zia_ Toni!” Matteo bellowed at the top of his lungs.

Gary winced at the volume, but the rest of the family laughed and looked at Brigatti. She glanced out the window. “Looks like it’s finally dark enough.”

The kids all whooped in delight. Conversations overlapped as they entreated each adult to join them- trying to convince Pete all at the same time- but to no avail. Finally they turned to Gary. “Mister Gary, will you play with us?” Bianca cajoled with a charming smile that would probably give Marco plenty to worry about in five years or so.

“Play what?”

Matteo bounced up. “Catching _Zia_ Toni! It’s a tradition! But the grownups don’t always play with us. It’s more fun when they do, though.”

“I don’t understand. Is it a game?”

Toni walked into his line of sight, coat in hand. “It’s called ‘Feds and Mobsters.’”

“Ah,” he said as understanding hit. “You mean ‘Cops and Robbers.’”

“No, I mean ‘Feds and Mobsters’. The rules are different, but the unofficial name has become ‘Catching _Zia_ Toni’.” She shrugged.

“See, this is how you play,” Pete leaned over to get a better look at Gary. “Toni is a Fed, and everyone else is part of the mob. Her goal is to apprehend all of us, and our goal is to avoid getting caught and trying to catch _her_. If any mobster is caught, they have a choice: you can either sit out the rest of the game under the jail tree or you can be a stool pigeon and tell Toni any plans in the mix. Then you become a Fed and get to help her. We’ve been playing for a couple of years, but Toni always wins. And not just against the kids; Marco and I have played too.”

Toni smirked. “I’m just that good.”

“You just do that kind of stuff more often. Unfair advantage, I say,” Marco sniffed.

“One woman against two intelligent, full grown men and a horde of kids is too much of an advantage?”

Pete ignored them. “There are two guns in the game- Nerf guns, with the foam darts. Unlike real life, the Feds are the only ones with guns, at least at first.”

“Yeah,” Marco chimed in. “Even she doesn’t deserve to be cut down in an ambush.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Yeah, basically.” Pete shrugged. “Toni carries one gun with her and hides the other at her secret base. If the mobsters can find it, they can steal it. Usually, Toni gives the gun to whoever’s the newest stool pigeon- that way everyone gets to use it.”

“Will you play? Please?” begged Bianca.

The others surrounded him in a chorus of pleading. The adults were laughing and Toni was making some provoking comment. Luckily, Gary couldn’t hear it over the sea of young, eager faces. “All right.”

The pleas instantly turned into excited hollering and then there was a stampede to the coat closet. Toni handed Gary his jacket. “You guys get five minutes to plan before I come out. After that, you’re all mine.” She threw him a predatory look that probably made her one of the most feared detectives in Chicago.

Gary responded with a smirk of his own. “Yeah, well, we’ll see. After all, you couldn’t catch me last November.” He grinned smugly to take any possible sting out of the memory.

The tension died in her eyes, and she smiled again. “Don’t get cocky; I won’t have the rest of the force slowing me down this time.” The kids filed out the door as she picked up her coffee mug. “Five minutes, Hobson.”

The night was crisp and cold, and the kids very excited. “Let’s use _Nonna_’s wheelbarrow for base!” Matteo suggested, and led them all to a decorative wheelbarrow-shaped flower pot in the backyard.

They looked at Gary expectantly. “So Mister Gary, what are we gonna do?” Matteo demanded.

Bianca sat down heavily. “_Zia_ Toni’s really good. Even when _Zio_ Pete plays, we lose.”

Gary sat down too, checking his watch. “Well, we’re not gonna lose this time. I’ve got a plan, but I’m gonna need everyone’s help.”

A tiny hand tugged his sleeve. “Even me, Mister Gary?” Annamaria asked, nervously gnawing at her thumbnail.

He smiled. “Especially you. Now here’s the plan…”

The kids gathered around in an eager huddle.

* * *

Toni shook her watch down to her wrist, glanced at it, and took a final sip of coffee before shrugging into her coat. The conversation around the table, which had been focused on the sorrows and trials of lawn care, died as her brothers and sister-in-law looked up at her. Pete had another of those smug grins on his face, reminiscent enough of Winslow to make her seriously consider punching him. “So, anticipate any trouble tonight?”

“Hobson?” she scoffed as she stepped out the door. “Piece of cake.”

Closing the door behind her she took a deep breath and surveyed her surroundings. It was cold but not frigid, dark but not pitch black. Perfect conditions.

She rounded the corner of the house and saw a few shadows disappear around the next corner, too far out of reach. She started to pursue anyway, then stopped as the hairs on the back of her neck rose.

Cautiously, she started to check all of the bushes in that area. As she headed towards the third bush it rustled madly and a small shape tore out of it. Toni was hot on its heels and in about ten steps caught it. Annamaria. She laughed mock-maniacally and started tickling her niece. Annamaria squirmed and squealed and tried in vain to escape the hands under her arms and around her belly. “Stop! Stop, _Zia_, stop!” she screeched.

Laughing, Toni loosened her grip and kissed her cheek. “So, little canary, are you gonna sing?”

“Oh no!” she wailed. Wiggling out of her arms, Anna turned to face her captor. “Oh please, _Zia_ Toni! Mister Gary is counting on me! Please, can’t we just pretend that I ran too fast?”

“Aw, well that’s hardly fair!” Toni sat and swung her niece’s hands back and forth. “If I let you do that, then I’d have to let _everyone_ do that, and the game wouldn’t be fun anymore.”

She sniffled. “But I promised Mister Gary that I’d help.”

Toni scooped up her smallest niece and gave her another kiss. “Don’t you worry about Mister Gary. _Zia_ Toni’ll take care of him. Us girls gotta stick together! 'Sides, working with me is more fun than sitting under the jail tree, right?”

“I guess so,” she muttered.

“Right. So, what’s the plan?”

Annamaria blinked. “Oh yeah!” Drawing herself up, she took a deep breath the words tumbling out one after the other in rapid succession. “They’re gonna watch you when you hide the extra gun so that they can steal it and you’re supposed to chase me so that Mister Gary can climb the jail tree and shoot you!.”

Toni’s jaw sagged a little, surprised at how well Anna had remembered the plan. But what with Hobson’s obsessive-compulsive tendencies, he’d probably made all the kids repeat it at least ten times. She chuckled.

Annamaria cocked her head to the side like the little bird she was. “What?”

Toni got to her feet. “Oh, nothing much. The problem is that I didn’t hide the extra gun this time.” Reaching into her jacket pocket, she pulled out the brightly colored projectile launcher. “You see? Mister Gary’s plan is falling apart already! Aren’t you glad you’re with me now?”

Annamaria giggled and reached for the gun. She looked up. “Let’s get ‘em!”

Anna proved more quiet than Toni had anticipated, following a few paces behind her aunt as they crept past the kitchen window and prepared to look around the next corner. By now it would now be obvious to Hobson that his plan hadn’t worked. With any luck, he just might be foolish enough to try to hold another meeting.

Wouldn’t you know it? Squatting in a low huddle around the next bend, Hobson and the rest of the kids were whispering and gesturing. Risking a few steps closer, Toni motioned Annamaria closer and raised her gun. “All right, freeze! This is the FBI! Up against the wall and spread ‘em!”

The group whirled around, prepared to run. But finding themselves already in her line of fire, they reluctantly stepped back towards the side wall of the house. “All right, I want all of you to turn around and place your hands on the wall.”

Hobson folded his arms. “No. I don’t think I will.”

Toni raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Yeah.” He looked off to her side and nodded.

Toni felt a spot of pressure against her rib cage. “Drop your gun, _Zia_ Toni,” Annamaria stammered with a valiant attempt at confidence.

Impressed in spite of herself, Toni could only shake her head. “Wow. I have to admit Hobson, I am impressed. Classic double-cross. I suppose I should have caught that. Just goes to show you that you can’t-”

Breaking off her sentence mid-breath, Toni knocked the gun out of Anna’s hand and snaked her free arm behind her niece’s knees. Scooping her up in one arm, Toni let Anna’s bottom drop, trapping her niece in a more-or-less seated position between Toni’s arm and chest. Making sure that Anna’s arms were pinned too- and ignoring her delighted shrieks and flailing legs- Toni pointed her dart gun at her niece’s ribs just as Hobson snatched the gun Anna had just dropped. “Weapons down!” she snapped.

He grimaced, and tossed the gun aside. Toni smiled and planted a big kiss on Anna’s cheek. “Now, let this be a lesson to you about the dangers of organized crime, sweetie. Normally a mob family would just gun you down right along with me. Luckily, Hobson here’s a softie. He couldn’t do that, not even in play.” She let herself enjoy the look on his face a moment before continuing. “Now let’s try this again. Everyone against the wall! Now!”

Hobson took a step closer. “Make me.”

She blinked. “Make you?”

“You heard me.” He took another step. “I know you too, Brigatti. You won’t pull that trigger.”

She permitted herself an icy smile and made a show of bringing the nerf gun closer. “You’ve seen me shoot before, Hobson.”

Another step. He was about seven feet away. “But you won’t here.” He smirked. “Not even in play,” he echoed.

And damn him, he was right. Cops didn’t shoot helpless captives, and Toni couldn’t even _pretend_ to deal an execution shot to her littlest niece. She briefly let her head drop. “You’re right. I can’t.” She let one more second pass, then crouched down and swung Anna back dramatically. “Catch!” she chirped, relieved to see Hobson blanch and stretch out his hands. Seeing that he was prepared, Toni released Anna in a lazy arc aimed right for Hobson’s arms… and bolted.

She heard Anna’s exhilarated screech and a soft “oof” a split second before Mattie’s wild shout of, “Get her, Mister Gary!!!” Three seconds later heavy footsteps were pounding after her. Toni really put on the gas then, running as fast as she could across the full length of the backyard. She somehow managed to make it through, but Hobson was gaining. The side yard flew by next as she gasped with exertion. Damn, he was fast! Any second now and he’d have her. Front yard- they’d already almost come full circle. Her only hope was the gun in her hand. Taking a deep breath, she hopped and spun around 180°, planting her feet and bringing the gun to bear-

Only to realize she’d grossly miscalculated. Hobson was even faster than she’d thought. Instead of being a few yards behind her, he’d only been a few feet… and going way too fast to stop. His eyes widened in surprise and horror even as her own did, and two sets of arms flailed out to deter impact.

Hobson plowed into her at only slightly less than full speed, knocking her full off her feet. She instinctively grabbed at his neck and shoulders, but he was already falling on top of her, and with joint yelps they crashed to the ground.

The landing was _slightly_ less painful than Toni had anticipated. Her back and butt still impacted hard, but Hobson had kept his arms flung out in front of him, keeping at least some of his weight from crushing her. That could not have done his wrists any favors. Trembling, he collapsed onto his elbows. “Are you all right?” he managed after a moment.

“Yeah, mostly,” she groaned, wincing as she gingerly shifted her very sore backside. “Not my best thought-out plan.”

His chest jumped against her rib cage as he snorted in amusement. She smiled at the sensation, and smiled at his grinning back at her. Then both smiles faltered as realization of their closeness sunk in. But he didn’t move off, and she didn’t push him away. For another second they sat still, and Gary looked like he wanted to say something. Loud noises and screeches drew near, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away…

With a ear-splitting war cry, Kevin jumped onto Hobson’s back. He and Toni had the wind knocked out of them for a second time as they abruptly found themselves at the bottom of a writhing dogpile. Jubilant cackles and triumphant shouts threatened to wake the neighborhood. And the dead.

With a grunt, Hobson managed to lift himself and the kids up enough to look her in the face again. “Do you give up, Agent Brigatti?”

“Eat my shorts, Hobson!”

“If you don’t give up, my boys- and, uh, girls- will send you to sleep with the fishes!”

“Okay, seriously, it’s time to stop watching reruns of ‘The Untouchables,’” she sneered.

“My arms are getting tired,” he warned melodramatically.

Trying to hide her smile, she stuck her nose in the air. “A federal agent never yields, even under the most hideous torture!”

Grinning wickedly- Hobson could grin wickedly?- he let his arms collapse and dumped the combined weight of the kids and himself right on top of her. She coughed, groaned, and laughed all at the same time. “Surrender, Agent Brigatti!” he demanded once more.

When she didn’t respond he lifted and dropped everyone on her again. Somehow managing to stop laughing long enough to catch her breath she gasped, “All right, I yield! All right!”

The kids screamed in delight as they clambered off. Still laughing, Hobson got up and grabbed her hand, easily pulling her up. She held onto his shoulder as she steadied herself, taking in the kids and the light coming through the kitchen window through a sheen of tears. She hadn’t laughed this hard in forever, and she’d never seen Hobson actually laugh out loud before. His eyes crinkled up so you could barely see them.

Mattie and Bibi interrupted that train of thought by grabbing her arms and parading her back to the house. Mom was at the kitchen window, waving a cake at them. “Hey, it looks like _Nonna_ finished dessert!”

More noise, more shouts of jubilation. The twins nearly pulled her arms from their sockets jumping up and down as they led her back to the house. Looking back, she could see Gary swing Annamaria up onto his shoulders and follow her- with Kevin attached to his leg.

* * *

The impact had witnesses. As did the aftermath.

“Innnnteresting,” Marco mused.

Moira pressed closer to her husband to get a better view. “How long do you think they’ll stay like that?”

“Not long. The kids have almost reached them.”

Pete moved closer to the pane and took a sharp breath. “Is she _smiling_?!”

The children landed on the couple like human kamikazes and the three voyeurs at the kitchen window winced in sympathy. Moira shook her head. “Oof. Poor Gary.”

“I’m not sure if Toni’s that sorry,” Pete smirked.

“Don’t be vulgar.”

“Well, it’s a day in Brigatti history,” Marco murmured. “The Last Uncatchable.”

“Man,” drawled Pete. “This day just gets more and more interesting. What I wouldn’t give to know their _real_ history.”

“You think there’s something they’re not telling us?” Moira asked, leaning forward to look at Pete across her husband’s chest.

“There has to be. You know Toni. She’s been on edge all day, and then she doesn’t push him off when he falls on top of her? I'm telling you, if there isn’t a juicy little story tucked somewhere in there, I’ll let you have my signed baseball.”

“Wow. You _are_ serious,” Marco deadpanned.

“Get down!” hissed Pete.

All three adults ducked below the sill. Chortling, they turned to sit with their backs to the sink cabinets. “Do you think she saw us?” laughed Moira.

“I don’t think so,” replied Marco.

Lucia walked over to them, cradling a delicious-smelling cake in her potholdered hands. “What are you doing?” she frowned.

The three of them made shushing noises, which Lucia either didn’t understand or ignored. “Get off the floor; it’s so dirty. And the cake is ready.” Stepping closer to the window, she held up the cake and bellowed, “Antonia, _Signore_ Gary, _bambinos_! The cake is ready!”

They barely managed to scramble off the floor before the front door banged open. Toni was being led in triumph by Bibi and Mattie, and Gary followed with the littlest ones in tow. Literally, in Kevin’s case. Moira threw her youngest a look and jerked her thumb in a silent command. Kevin promptly obeyed- for once- and released his hold on Gary’s leg, though Moira suspected it had more to do with Lucia slicing up cake than with any newfound respect for personal space.

The twins abandoned Toni to regale their father and uncle with the whole escapade as everyone began to make their way to the dining room. Moira worriedly glanced at Anna perched on Gary’s shoulders, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was exchanging lively comments with Toni, a conversation that was unfortunately pitched below the general noise level until Toni jumped forward to stand directly in front of Gary. “And _you_!” she cackled, tickling Anna’s legs. “You betrayed me and set me up, you double-crossing little minx! Being cute won’t save you now!”

Annamaria shrieked and flailed her legs as she leaned down to hug Gary tighter around the head. “Help! Save me, Mister Gary! Save me!”

Gasping dramatically, Gary dodged and danced his way out of Toni’s reach as Anna continued screeching with delight. Moira laughed and reached up to remove her daughter from their guest’s shoulders. “C’mon, Anna, you’ll miss cake!”

Her daughter wriggled out of her grasp and bolted for the dining room, but Moira followed at a more leisurely pace. She was picking up toys, and most certainly _not_ lingering in the room just to hear Gary and Toni’s conversation. “You are a sneaky son of a so-and-so, you know that Hobson?” Toni said as they ambled after the others.

Gary turned on her, eyes twinkling. “Why Detective, is that a compliment?”

Toni flounced past him. “I don’t give compliments.” At his responding snort, she continued. “You expect compliments after teaching my young, innocent, impressionable nieces and nephews about deceit and manipulation?”

Moira glanced up just in time to see the sheepish grin on his face. “Well, I learned it from the best, right?”

It was her turn to snort. “That’s not nearly good enough, Hobson.”

“Yeah, well,” he sighed as they entered the dining room, “can’t blame me for trying.”

Moira hurriedly followed, passing through the doors as everyone settled into chairs. “Gary, come have some cake!” Pete shouted.

“Made from the Brigatti family secret recipe,” Marco intoned. “Finer than gold! More precious than silver!”

Gary’s eyes crinkled. “Sounds good.”

Pete glared balefully at him. “More than that! You have to have some, or you will offend the hostess! You won’t ever be allowed to return!”

Gary nodded, solemn. “Well then, I’d better have some cake.”

Toni blinked, her eyes wide. Gary’s gaze flicked to her as he realized what he had just implied, instantly making the situation worse. Toni shot a split-second, venomous glare at a very satisfied-looking Pete while Gary started stammering. “Well, I mean, I, uh, wouldn’t want to offend the hostess.” He tried aiming an ingratiating grin at Lucia.

Toni forced a laugh. “Besides, Hobson saying ‘no’ to food of any kind would be a sign of the impending apocalypse.” The family laughed with her, Gary looking immensely relieved.

With casual purpose, Annamaria climbed up onto Gary’s lap and grabbed the nearest fork. Gary’s brain seemed to short out at he took in her presence. “Anna,” Moira reproved, “you need to sit in your own chair.”

Her face set into a stubborn scowl. “I wanna sit with Mister Gary!” she whined.

Gary seemed shocked by the statement. Moira figured that he’d probably been thrown for a loop enough times in one day, and leveled a stern look at her daughter. “Anna-”

“It’s all right,” Gary interrupted softly as he met Moira’s gaze. “I don’t mind.”

Moira paused as she recognized the look on Gary’s face- the same look Marco gave her whenever she tried to put an end to teatime in favor of bedtime. Her mind flashed back to Gary’s account of his business-minded lawyer ex-wife, and for an instant saw the hungry longing for kids- for _family_\- buried deep in their guest’s eyes.

Moira swallowed her sympathy, managing to act more or less normal as she gave Anna a look. “If Mister Gary says it’s okay, then you can sit with him. _This time_.”

Annamaria, satisfied by the turn of events, turned back to wait for her slice of cake, her skinny legs swinging back and forth in eagerness. Gary didn’t seem to mind, nor did he contribute much to the conversation during dessert. He just sat with Anna on his lap, taking occasional bites of cake with one hand and holding Anna steady on his knee with the other. He faithfully answered whatever silly question Anna posed him, but most of the time he was quiet, lost in thought.

A full half-hour passed before Moira realized that Toni hadn’t contributed much to the dessert conversations either.


	6. A Kodak Moment

Lucia had done the majority of the cooking, and Gary was a guest, so their absence from the clean-up was both understandable and expected. Marco and Pete had pleaded prior home-repair responsibilities, which was supposedly why Moira found herself scrubbing dishes in the kitchen with only Toni for company. Normally she’d be annoyed, but given today’s unusual circumstances, she was grateful for a moment alone with her sister-in-law. “So… Gary?” she finally ventured.

Toni immediately stiffened, but feigned nonchalance. “What?”

“How did you two meet?”

Her answers were brief and brusque. “I told you, while I was in the Marshals. Ran into him a few more times on the force.”

“Helped prove him innocent of murder.”

“Which is _my job_.”

They scrubbed in silence for another moment. “He seems really nice.”

Toni gave a growl that betrayed just how close she was to the end of her rope. “Oh, for god’s sake, Moira- not you too!”

“I’m just saying he’s nice!”

“I’m not- I’m not trying to deny that he’s a nice guy, okay? It’s just that he’s… well, he’s a human monkey wrench! As if life isn’t complicated enough, right?”

Moira shrugged. “That’s how I used to feel about kids. Sometimes life needs to be more complicated.”

“Now look,” Toni warned, turning to level a stern look at her. “I’ve had to put up with a pair of sniggering brothers and a mom who thinks he fell straight from heaven into our laps. Not to mention four kids who want to adopt him. I do _not_ need it from you too.”

Moira dried her hands and enveloped her sister-in-law in a hug. “I’m sorry. He’s a sweet, good-looking guy who’s good with kids; it’s a knee-jerk reaction. I just want to see you happy.”

Toni pulled away and attacked the dishes with renewed vigor. “What would make me happy is for everyone to get off my case. And why is everyone assuming that I need a man to be happy? It’s like the feminist revolution never happened.”

Moira burst out laughing just as Marco and Lucia entered the kitchen. “_Cuore mio_, it’s getting late, the kids are starting to fade, and I have an early meeting.”

“Oh! That’s right, I forgot!” Moira hastily hung up her dishcloth. “I’ll start gathering everything up. Did you and Pete figure out what to do about the crown molding?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Pete’s still up there taking measurements and we’ll start pricing materials this weekend. Maybe we’ll take Mattie and Kevin with us; they’d love it.” He headed for the living room. “Speaking of which, Kevin fell asleep under the piano bench again. I think I’m gonna just put him in the car if we’re leaving now.”

“Wait!” Lucia fretted as she moved towards the dining room. “You must take some of the cake home. Moira, would you grab a bowl for me, _per favore_?”

Moira ducked around Toni’s legs to dig through the Tupperware cabinet until she found one with a top. She swung through the hinge doors into the dining room and was alarmed to find Lucia staring at the far side of the table with her mouth open and a hand over her heart. “What’s wrong?” Moira cried as she hastily moved towards her mother-in-law.

Lucia immediately threw a quelling arm in her direction and made shushing noises. Moira turned to see what she was gaping at, and had to keep from squealing herself. Gary was slouched, loose-limbed, in one of the dining room chairs, head lolled back and quietly snoring through his open mouth. Annamaria was still curled up on his lap, also dead asleep, with one hand gripping a fold in his sweater.

Of all the cutest things Moira had ever seen, it easily made the top five. Next to her, Lucia sniffed and brought her clasped hands up to her mouth, utterly overcome by the moment. She sighed with deep disappointment. “Well,” she murmured, “I suppose we must wake them...”

“Wait!” Moira whispered urgently. She jogged into the living room, tearing through cabinets until she found Lucia’s instant camera. She glanced at the date on the film packages, nodded in satisfaction, and returned to the dining room. “Say cheese,” she breathed as she pressed the button.

The muted click did nothing to disturb either party. Moira gently shook the photo and snagged a permanent marker from the kitchen. One quick scribble later, an equally quick trip to the living room to return the camera, and she was done. By the time she returned to the dining room, Lucia was already packing up the leftover cake and sneaking glances at the slumbering pair. With profound regret, Moira began to lift Annamaria off of their guest’s lap.

Gary jerked back in his seat, bleary eyes casting about in confusion. He took in Moira’s reassuring smile and Annamaria’s sleeping form, and obeyed her silent suggestion that he stay still until the latter was fully removed. For her part, Anna stirred but promptly fell back asleep as soon as her head hit her mother’s shoulder.

Gary scratched his head as he glanced sheepishly at the two women. “Sorry,” he croaked in a thick, sleepy voice.

Moira chuckled as she shifted her daughter’s weight in her arms. “Not at all. I’m sorry she conked out on you like that.”

“Oh no,” the other responded with a touch of alarm. “It’s no trouble.” He fidgeted for another second before zeroing in on Lucia. “Mrs. B, let me help you with that.”

Moira decided to let them fight over who would get to relieve the other of duty and went to find the rest of her family. Everyone was gathered in the foyer, Mattie and Bianca giving sleepy goodbye hugs to their aunt and uncle. They perked up a little as Gary entered, having apparently won the cake-carrying battle. They scampered over to him and eagerly pelted him with unabashed inquiries of when he’d be back.

Both Gary and Toni looked awkward as hell, so Moira took pity on them. “You know you’re welcome back any time, Gary. Thank you for coming.”

He flushed. “I’m the one who should be saying thanks. It was awfully nice of you to let me crash your get-together.”

Bianca tried to press him again, but Toni forestalled any further demands. “You need a ride home?”

“No, that’s all right. If I could use your phone for a minute I’ll call a cab.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hobson. I’ll drop you off on my way.” She grabbed her coat and reached for Gary’s as well. Moira lunged for the leather jacket and managed to snag it first. Toni threw her a quick look of confusion and suspicion before turning to Lucia. “Bye, Ma. Look both ways next time, huh?”

When Gary finished making the rounds of hand-shaking, Moira handed him his jacket with a mischievous smile and a peck on the cheek. Moira managed to catch Toni’s eye before she stepped out the door, giving her sister-in-law a tiny smile and a “why not?” shrug.

Toni’s mouth twisted… but she returned the same shrug.

* * *

In the years since the paper has started arriving on his doorstep, Gary had been the victim of numerous embarrassing moments. He’d been tossed in jail, gone dumpster diving, escaped through bathroom windows, herded ducklings across busy intersections, and had even climbed down a human ladder of eastern European acrobats.

But nothing he’d ever experienced was as awkward as that silent ride back to McGinty's.

He wasn’t even sure what was worse- the silence, or the failed attempts at small talk. They finally just gave up after the third observation about the weather fell flat. Gary felt like six different kinds of idiot, and judging from the charged atmosphere of the sedan, Brigatti was feeling the same way.

Gary experienced a palpable sense of relief as the car finally stopped in front of the refurbished fire station. But underneath the relief lurked frustration and a desperate feeling that he had just run out of time.“Well, here you are,” she observed mechanically, her own thoughts apparently a million miles away.

“Yeah,” he responded, the need to say something- anything- increasing. He slowly unbuckled his seat belt. “Thank you for the ride.”

“Hobson.”

His hand froze over the door handle. He looked back, uncertain what to make of the urgent but decidedly not-angry use of his name. Brigatti looked about as nervous as he’d ever seen her. “I was just thinking… well, that is to say that I thought…” She flushed and took a deep breath before plunging into her next sentence. “I thought that maybe we could…” She faltered, her gaze firmly fixed above the steering wheel, and the next words reluctantly crawled from her throat. “…get dinner sometime?”

Something fluttered in Gary’s stomach. “You don’t mean… a date?”

“No!” she hastily assured him. “No, of course not. Just, you know… dinner.”

He nodded slowly. “Right. I mean, everyone needs to eat, right?”

“Exactly,” she said, sounding relieved. “Everyone needs to eat.”

“Yeah. Dinner, or- or even lunch.”

“Yeah.” She looked over briefly. “Or breakfast. People eat breakfast.”

“Coffee…”

“Yeah…”

“Yeah…”

The awkward silence descended again. “Sounds nice,” Gary lamely supplied.

She sat another moment, rallying. “So I’ll give you a call.”

“Okay.” Dammit, why was his pulse racing? “Do you need my number?”

She frowned. “It’s in the Yellow Pages. You own a bar.”

Oh. Right. “Oh. Right.”

“Yeah.”

He tried to think of anything else to say, but his brain refused to function properly. The words “Brigatti” and “date” bounced around so chaotically he had to keep up a mantra of “it’s not really a date” just to maintain some semblance of composure. Finally giving up, he started to shift back to the door. “Well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight. And, uh…” That small, hesitant smile appeared, breathtaking as usual. “Thanks. For my mom.”

His mouth dried up, as it always seemed to do when exposed to that particular smile. “Thank you,” he managed.

What a dumb thing to say.

Another awkward silence dragged on. Brigatti finally stirred in annoyance and said in a clipped voice, “Get out of my car, Hobson.”

He immediately grabbed for the handle and was out in a flash. She tossed the little container of cake at him, just clearing the edge of the car door before Gary slammed it shut. The sound of the slam had barely registered before Brigatti tore away, leaving him staring at her departing taillights.

He stood there for a long time.

The cold eventually drove him into McGinty’s, where he settled down at the bar and stared at the rows of bottles. The bartender’s greeting brought Marissa over. “Gary?”

“Right here,” he replied mechanically.

She found him, but didn’t sit down. “The waitstaff said you haven’t been here all day,” she said softly. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Her brow furrowed. “You don’t sound fine. How was your day? Did everything… go okay?”

He let out a long breath. “I guess you could say that.”

She hesitated, and continued in a very gentle voice. “Did you save the old lady?”

“Oh… yeah. Yeah, she’s just fine.”

“Good.” Marissa hesitated again, trying to read him. Gary silently wished her luck, as he himself didn’t quite know how he was feeling. “Did you go see a movie?”

“Nope.”

“Take a walk?”

“…No, not really.”

She let out an irritated breath. “Well what did you do? It was a slow news day; I hope you at least enjoyed yourself!”

Two or three times he tried to respond to that, all unsuccessful. So he made a non-committal noise and fidgeted with the little container of cake.

Marissa cocked her head at the sound. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” Gary responded a little too quickly and much too defensively.

Marissa’s blind gaze sharpened and she reached over to trace her fingers over the plastic. “It’s cake,” Gary muttered in defeat. “Leftovers.”

She frowned. “It doesn’t feel like a to-go box. It feels like the sort of thing you use at home.”

“That’s ‘cause it is. I didn’t go to a restaurant.”

Marissa planted her free hand on her hip. “Gary Hobson, stop stalling and tell me what happened today!”

“Nothing! The lady I saved this morning invited me over for dinner, okay?”

“For dinner? You mean you were there all day?”

Gary froze, busted. “Well, her kids… the whole family was over and they wanted to show their gratitude. They insisted.”

She frowned. “Well that explains why they would ask you over, but it doesn’t explain why you accepted. It’s not like you to linger over a save, much less agree to go to someone’s house.”

“Look, I scraped up my arm and Brigatti was worried that it might get infected and-”

“_Brigatti_?” Marissa blurted. “_Toni_ Brigatti? The detective?”

“You know another Brigatti?” he snapped testily.

“You spent the whole day with Toni Brigatti!” Marissa’s smirk was incredulous and far too loaded with imminent teasing. “What did you do, save her mother?”

A pair of heartbeats passed as Gary decided he was done with the day. “I’m going to bed.”

Marissa dogged his steps all the way through the office, only stopping at the staircase leading to his loft. “You spent the day with Toni Brigatti and you brought home cake!” she all but cackled. “Oh, I am getting the whole story out of you if it’s the last thing I do!”

Gary thought of a footrace and a collision of bodies. “Good luck with that,” he muttered as he stomped up the stairs.

Marissa’s laughter followed him all the way up, and Gary closed the loft door a little harder than necessary. He glanced at the container of cake in his hands; he hadn’t even realized he’d grabbed it. He set it on the counter and stepped away, resting his back against the sink as he stared at it meditatively. Shaking his head, he tossed the container in the fridge and wandered over to the window. He dug his hands into his jacket pockets, and frowned as he discovered an unfamiliar object there. He fished it out and held it to the light.

It was a little Polaroid picture, the square kind from one of those instant cameras. His mouth went dry as he recognized himself, asleep with Annamaria snoring away on his lap. On the white plastic portion below the photo, someone had scrawled something…

_Come back soon!_

Gary lowered himself on the bed, heedless of anything but the photo in his hand. His thoughts absently lingered on a tiny weight settled on his legs, heels arrhythmically connecting with his shins. He thought of loud laughter, welcoming smiles, and mounds of delicious food. Most of all, he thought of Toni- a thousand shades and facets of her, both strange and familiar.

And a small, hesitant smile.

His tight chest relaxed just enough to release a long exhale. “Maybe,” he murmured.

* * *

Armstrong navigated around desks and personnel, doing his best to control the stack of files under one arm and the cup of coffee in the opposite hand. He rounded the final corner and walked over to his desk, unburdening himself with a sigh of relief.

Toni was already at her own desk, pacing as she growled softly into a telephone. “Stop crying! Now you listen very carefully. I told you, I’m not gonna press charges. _This time._ But you’d better keep both hands on that steering wheel and both eyes on the road from now on, or I will _find you again_ and I will _not_ be so forgiving. Do you understand me? _Good_. Have a nice day, Mister Cooper.”

Paul stared at Brigatti warily. That conversation had an air of “possible lawsuit” about it. “Was that call anything I should be worried about?”

“Of course not,” Brigatti responded crisply. “Just a little personal business.” She settled into her chair gingerly, and with a decided wince.

He frowned over at her. “You okay?”

“It’s nothing. My ass is all bruised.”

His eyebrows raised. “See, when I hear the phrase ‘bruised ass’, I tend to assume that there’s an interesting story behind it.”

Toni flushed. “I said it’s nothing. I was horsing around with… with my nieces and nephews this past weekend. I slipped and landed hard. End of story.”

“Ah.” Paul’s mind flashed to his own gaggle of nieces and he grinned. “Well, it still sounds like you enjoyed yourself.”

Toni blinked, her face blank. She continued to stare straight through him as a look of realization slowly crept over her features. “You know what?” she said, sounding a little stunned. “I really did.”

She mused over that statement as if it was a huge revelation. She took a deep breath and heaved herself out of her chair. “Excuse me,” she said as she walked away.

Paul craned his neck around to watch her leave, his puzzlement unabated as she dug her cell phone out of her pocket before disappearing around the corner.


End file.
